


Historic

by Jadedphase



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), fury road
Genre: Drabbles, some parts AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 13:04:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4836428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadedphase/pseuds/Jadedphase
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Mad Max: Fury Road drabbles; most of which involve Nux because I find him fascinating. Will be updated when ideas hit me - prompts left in comments are very welcome!<br/>Drabbles will be separated by chapters and may go over 100 words - very likely will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shattered

The blow stung, down so shockingly deep that for a moment Nux felt his very essence rattle free and pinball around the inside of his sore ribs; and not just that, no, there was something else that hurt so badly it shocked him. Because the words had fallen from his mouth so easily, as words were often determined to do with him, the spouting of 'we' this and that; 'we did it' and 'we caught her' and a dozen other rambled near-shrieks of excitement that marked his moment of glory. The moment his half-life had been building to, a moment nearly as good as chrome and worth every struggled breathe he had suffered at night and each aching drag of his exhausted muscles under the hot sun.  
He was going home with the prize, the ultimate one; he was returning the very thing that would earn him Valhalla.  
  
And he was not selfish enough to hog all that glory for himself; he shared it willingly and gleefully with the man who had a part in it, unwilling as that part might have been.  
  
This man, this feral, uncontrollable, strange man had suddenly become his partner in crime and the one who would share the spoils of the victory. He gave that eagerly; this man would become a friend and that was as rare as water under the scorched skies and so very shinny. Bloodbag no more, he would see to it that the stranger was granted a place in the ranks. Would take up the battle with him, fueled by the octane in the blood of the other as it flowed through their veins shared; and they would both die in such a glorious way that they would never be forgotten.  
  
It was such a gift; Nux was excitable to an often deadly fault but he was guarded in his friendships. And for good reason given how desperately short a half-life could be; friends dropped like shadows in the hot sun and the best one could hope was that they went out in a blaze that would be Witnessed. Only Slit held that title with Nux, only he had managed to live long enough to gain it and proven to be loyal enough, in his own volatile way, to deserve it.  
  
But now this stranger had just aided him in finding the Wives, in stopping them; this stranger was more than worthy to be Nux's friend, and maybe even his new Lancer with a little work.  
  
How it all crashed down he wasn't sure, only felt the rush of wind and the crash of sharp fist, then the ground hard under him; and everything simply dissolved as his thin body curled inward on himself; what madness had overtake the Bloodbag? Did he not understand the words? Was he that feral?  
  
Nux's eyes itched from the sand as he forced them open to watch the Rig slowly pull away; taking with it his chance and all the potential moments before had held. Taking away everything he had though, for an instant, lay right in the palm of wind-burned hands.  
Leaving him, as he always had been, alone and desperate to understand why. 


	2. Thirst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Water isn't so rare now at the Citadel as it had been under the cruel rein of Immortan Joe, it is carefully guarded but is given freely. Unfortunately for many it's a ghost of desperation they just can't shake.
> 
> AU for Nux being alive post movie.

Max never bothered to try to explain it, left that to souls better able to be outwardly compassionate like Capable to attempt to educate those who were still reeling from the change in power about how life was no longer the same. Her patient nature was heaven-sent when it came to the endless questions thrown her way and the panic over the new ways, both good and bad. She, out of them all, was best suited to calming the fears and teaching that this world was a far better one.

What ultimately won the people over was the water; the very thing they so desired but had fought tooth and nail for every drop; a precious thing that ran clear as glass and as crisp as the air never truly was.  
It was a slow education, and one that did not come so easily to many and harder still to the ones who came crawling back from the sands to find their leader dead and set with the task to either reform to the new rule or take their chances elsewhere; it was always the water that won them over.

The day Max returned from the trip to where they had left the broken Rig, not with parts and scavenged bits in tow but a sickly-thin and pale Nux packed up in the passenger seat it was then too that the water worked magic. Because it had to be magic the way it revived the boy, the one none of them expected to live; the scarred and torn body that gradually pulled itself together with the basic care of food and drink and even a transfusion or two.

But it was so easy of an addiction.

It became habit every time he saw the tempting clear liquid; Nux would drink himself sick on it, drown himself in it until his stomach pitched from the weight and he lost half of it to the nausea that welled up in his guts. Warnings barely heeded, he did learn in time not to gulp and drain entire bowls of the stuff at once, but days of sickness taught him that lesson. Nights of fever eased by the liquid gave him faith but too much of it, he learned, sent his weary stomach into fits and it was a different sort of misery; one that made Nux feel as though this new illness was punishment for the sin of drinking with gluttonous dependency the way it had always been preached to the masses as such a grave transgression. 

But even that nervous possibility could not keep him from it, the thought of being deprived once more left his brain all fuzzy at the edges until he had installed a new clip on his belt for the sole purpose of carrying a canteen; and this did not go unnoticed by Max nor Furiosa even if neither spoke out loud of it.

There were likely worse addictions to have and at the very least the boy's one for seeking his own death looked to be mostly cured so water was a small price to pay in return if it eased off the progression of the illness creeping through Nux's narrow body. It was all the more reason to indulge him his fixation.

 

The only time it troubled Max was now and then, rare moments when he would catch Nux abandoning his thoughts in the midst of his work on one thing or another that needed to be fixed on the cars and staring not so much off into space as his eyes were set unwavering to another around him, one lifting their own canteen. And no doubt a few seconds later he would be doing the same with an almost determined look in his eyes, a look that made Max pray to whatever gods were out there still left to listen to the creeping, slinking remains of the human race that those underground wells never ran dry.

 


	3. Glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What sort of hope can a person have when they're dying with every breath they take?
> 
> Slightly AU for the scene where Max and the Rig group finds out the truth of what happened to the Green Place.

It was difficult to watch the boy; it had been painful to see Furiosa sink into the sand and the other former Wives look towards each other desperate to find hope but coming up short when they learned the fate of the Green Place they had been chasing, but the boy was a different sort of painful to see fall apart. And maybe it was because Max thought of the War Boys as crazed, bloody-clawed animals; watching the silence overtake Nux made the insane boy too much like the rest of their exhausted little group.  
Pain was the only way of life for the War Boys; seeing one fold in on himself and go boneless in weary acceptance should not have left the swell of misery in Max's chest as well.

Perhaps that was why; it was so unnatural that one of Joe's followers would show such a side as human as the flesh that had begun to peek through the sun-peeled ivory paint.

There were plans to be made and while the women spoke Max edged off to think, not very surprised to come across the spot of dusty sand where Nux had sank like a wounded animal, curled inward on himself.

"No Valhalla now." The boy muttered to himself, pale fingers roaming to scrub at the twin vicious lumps that occupied his narrow throat like a dog chewing at a sore spot.

Max felt anger, of all things right then it was irritation over the works that caused him to speak; that after everything the boy still chased a dream of death. "How do even know if it's real and not just some lie they told you to keep you fighting?" 

The words were spat so sharply that he instantly regretted them but Nux only barely twitched in response.

"Gotta be real; what's a half-life worth if not?" Nux's eyes were on the endless sands rather than Max, scarred lips drawn into a frown. "Slit is there too, waitin' to brag about how he was Awaited first. S'never gonna let me live it down."

And standing there with his own anger dissolving, Max finally understood. Valhalla might not have been waiting, but for Nux it had to be, for all the War Boys. They were monsters and animals but they were also one short breath from the death rotting them out from the inside.  
That promise that the next world would be better than the hell that life was for them must have been one of the few comforts. One born of madness but the only hope for a life that held no value to anyone unless it ended for the cause.  
And friends, if War Boys even fully grasped the idea, found peace in death; they weren't just corpses left to decay in the burning sun.

Max felt a wave if guilt over his anger, a tiny hint of respect for the idea, even if he didn't believe it to be true himself.

It didn't have to be true for him; it only had to be the lifeline and sense of purpose for a desperate boy who knew very little of how kindness felt but was willing to risk so much for just a taste of it. One who had likely only hours ago had lost his home and perhaps only friend in the Lancer he drove with. And who, in spite of it all, was still hopeful for the glory he had been promised if he was brave enough to die well. 

Because otherwise he would wither away in pain and the slow fail of his own poisoned, betraying body; a death too soft to give his short life purpose.

Max's gaze trailed to the women for a moment, then back to the boy; what was there still out there for any of them?  
And then, suddenly, he knew.

"Get up," Max all but growled to startle the boy into motion, "I know what we're going to do; and it's just crazy enough that we all might end up in your Valhalla before it's over."

Max was already in motion towards the women when Nux scrambled to his feet, spider-thin limbs clambering to keep him balanced as he lunged to follow the strange man; the tiniest flicker of something like bloody, hesitant hope in his eyes.


End file.
